


resonance

by buttered_onions



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Keith (Voltron)-centric, M/M, One Shot, Sendak features very briefly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:28:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24006634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttered_onions/pseuds/buttered_onions
Summary: Life as an officer in the Empire is predictable and monotonous. It's all Keith knows. It's all life is. It doesn't matter if it's not fulfilling.At least, that's what he thinks before Jakku.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 64





	resonance

**Author's Note:**

> (The last thing onions needs is another Star Wars AU, said nobody ever.)
> 
> HI. I wrote this a looooooong time ago for a zine that never went. On this happiest of days, here it is. Surprise :)
> 
> Not related at all to my [other Star Wars AU.](https://archiveofourown.org/series/672224) No, it's not like me at all to poke out of a hiatus with a new AU. Me? Who do you think you are.
> 
> Hope you all are well, and May the Fourth be with you.
> 
> \--
> 
> This work literally would not have existed without the help of my bff [gitwrecked](https://twitter.com/gitwrecked). Thank you so much for being so supportive and fantastic always. You rock.

**0\. Keith has no idea what he wants from life.**

Keith’s place in the Empire has always been secure, even if he’s never been able to put a finger as to why. He’s treated well by the other lower officers, if ‘treated well’ and ‘avoided’ are the same thing. It isn’t favoritism; Emperor Zarkon never has much to say to him, the few times they’ve met. It doesn’t matter. Keith doesn’t report to him anyway. That’s the job of higher officers like Sendak and Thace. As far as Keith’s concerned they can have all the honor. That’s fine by him.

Life in the Empire is predictable, to put it mildly. It’s flat-out boring. Keith goes where he’s told, orders Stormtroopers around, hangs back as Sendak overrides his commands and takes all the credit when things go well. Most of the time Keith’s stuck aboard this massive ship, surrounded by the _Finalizer’s_ black walls and blinking consoles, the monotony broken only by the white of marching Stormtroopers, focused and oblivious. They’re clones, trained to obey orders and not to think. In some ways Keith envies them. Even the droids have more to do than he does, always skittering past his ankles to take a message somewhere else on the ship, to do a job, to do _something._ Keith steps out of their way and tugs at the itchy uniform collar when no one’s looking. Keith does his job and repeats monotonous day after monotonous day in this nameless, faceless place, counting the hours until he can take the hated uniform off. There’s nothing here for him. 

“You’re lucky,” Sendak half-snarled, half-purred when Keith was transferred up into his command. “Here on the Emperor’s good graces? Some of us had to work for what we have.”

Keith isn’t an idiot; he’d held his tongue, seething. It’s a lie, but there’s no one to speak up on his behalf. Sendak ignores him unless he has no other choice. Keith hasn’t seen Thace since the promotion. None of it matters. Keith does his job and he does it well. He goes back to his quarters at the end of the programmed day-cycle and loosens his collar, lets the tight-fitting jacket drape open and slide off to the floor. He stares out the massive window, takes in the floor-to-ceiling view of empty, tempting space. Sometimes the window is busy with the white blur of hyperspace. Sometimes it’s calm, a looming sphere of another planet Keith isn’t allowed to go down to. Sometimes it’s nothing but an endless expanse of vast, pinpricked stars.

If something out there is calling him, Keith’s sure he’s too far away to hear it.

**1\. Their first glimpse of each other is at night, across the remnants of what used to be a thriving village.**

As a junior officer, Keith is allowed on ground missions but not off the ship until the bulk of the fighting is over. 

This fight in particular is short. The natives of this tiny village weren’t prepared for them; few ever are. Keith steps out of the transport ship and onto dry sand. The cold of the desert night slams into him, surprisingly chill. The desert village is in shambles, lanterns burning on tall poles and fires ravenously devouring the ragged remains of tents. Keith has never liked this part. 

Bodies litter the square, unmoving and still warm. Keith steps over the carnage, out of the way of Sendak’s stormtroopers dragging the deceased into a pile at the center of the square. Keith directs his troops to assist, for what good it’ll do. If anyone here is still alive he’ll eat his kriffing uniform coat. Sendak is not one for mercy.

“I thought I told you to stay on the ship,” Sendak growls as Keith draws near. 

“I can take care of myself,” Keith snaps back, “Unless you don’t have this under control?”

Sendak’s prosthetic eye shifts, a narrow scowl as the lens focuses. The light of barely-controlled fire gleams against the metal. He gestures sharply with one hand. Two of the still-standing tents burst into flame. Several Stormtroopers flinch back from Sendak’s demonstration of the Force. Keith resists rolling his eyes. If having elusive, upper-hand _space magic_ means turning into something like Sendak, Keith wants no part of it.

“Sort through the bodies, since you’re here,” Sendak orders, his attention already elsewhere. “This village has what Emperor Zarkon seeks. It will be found before we leave.”

“Sure you don’t want to help?” Keith quips.

Sendak glares at him; Keith turns away, the fabric of his sleeves scratching at his wrists. Whatever. This is the fifth village they’ve been to on as many different planets. Sendak’s full of bantha shit. Whatever Emperor Zarkon is looking for, Keith’s almost positive it isn’t here.

Something whispers to him.

It’s quiet; it’s quick, a breath of a warm breeze brushing against his hair. Keith half-turns towards the outskirts of the village, almost expecting - 

The vicious hum of a lightsaber tears through the air as Sendak activates it. Keith yelps, startling backwards. Sendak swings - his red blade slashes the air in front of Keith, so close the heat sears across his skin. The blade sails past his nose in a heartbeat as Sendak deflects the blue bolt of blaster fire headed straight for Keith.

He’s just in the nick of time. The deflected bolt slams to the right and directly into the central power fountain of the village. The whining machine explodes, fire and amber electric sparks shooting straight upwards into the dark night sky. It’s nothing compared to what’s happening in front of Keith. The hum of the lightsaber rings in his ears even as Sendak lowers his blade, takes a step away. Sendak’s other hand is extended, fingers out and reaching -

\- towards the silhouette of someone frozen at the edge of the village square, blaster out and pointed in their direction. He’s several steps out from the cover of what’s clearly an old X-wing, illuminated now in the flames of the destroyed power fountain. The light from the blaze flickers over the rebel’s dark jacket, illuminates in ragged shadows his tense form as he shakes, held in place by Sendak’s command of the Force.

“This is why I told you to stay on the ship,” Sendak growls to Keith, and snaps his fingers to have the rebel pilot brought to him.

It doesn’t take long. The pilot’s escorted over by two Stormtroopers, roughhandled down to his knees in front of them. Keith stands at Sendak’s shoulder. Sendak stands a step in front, lightsaber still active. The red of the blade hums ominously, but not loud enough to block out the crackle of flames and spitting sparks of the village burning around them.

“You’re not from here,” Sendak muses. His voice is a pleased, smug smirk. “Did they give the plans to you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the pilot hisses. His hair is cut short on the sides, his dark shock of bangs falling just above his eyes. The pilot glares up at Sendak, undaunted from where he’s forced to kneel in the sand. “Word of what you’re doing has spread. If you think you can get away with killing innocent villagers - ”

“I can and I have,” Sendak says. “You, on the other hand…”

He’s smiling. Keith’s stomach sinks, a familiar dip he’s never fully learned to ignore. Sendak isn’t one for mercy. Whatever he’s planning -

The pilot’s gaze flickers from Sendak to Keith.

Everything - slows. 

There’s fear in the pilot’s gaze, sure. Everyone’s afraid of Sendak. That isn’t what’s startling. What’s startling is the depths of those eyes, the way the light of too-many fires reflects in them. The pilot’s dark brown eyes stare back at Keith in a mingled mix of fear and determination, of startling courage and open terror, of surprise and just the hint of a desperate plea -

Keith’s breath catches in his throat. He’s stood at Sendak’s shoulder in front of prisoners before. This situation is no different. This shouldn’t be any different. This - 

“Take him away,” Sendak orders, and Keith’s whole world shifts.

He’s never seen eyes like that before.

**2\. Keith’s second glimpse of the pilot is equally brief.**

This time it’s through a doorway in the hall of the _Finalizer_ , sliding open just as Keith passes by. Sendak steps out, snapping one of his gloves back in place on his wrist. In the room behind him an interrogation table is raised mercilessly to its most upright position. Strapped to it is the pilot, head lolling to the side. The harsh white lights from overhead streak pale highlights in dark hair and run long shadows down his face. His eyes are closed, his posture limp. Blood drips down his cheek and off his chin, new and thick from a gash across his nose -

“Something you need, halfwit?” Sendak growls. The door slides shut, cutting off Keith’s view.

“No,” Keith grits out, and carries on.

He cannot get the pilot out of his head.

**3\. Their third glimpse is more than that.**

“Here,” Keith insists, tugging at the binders locked tight around the pilot’s wrists. “Hold still, let me help.”

“Who are you?” the pilot breathes. His voice is hoarse. The wound on his nose is scabbing over after three days as Sendak’s prisoner, three tortured days where Keith has done nothing but think and think and decide. 

“A friend,” Keith manages. His mouth is dry, his fingers shaking as he works at the pilot’s bindings. “I need to get off this ship and I’m taking you with me. Unless that’s a problem?”

“Wha - no,” the pilot stammers. The binders fall free; Keith catches them before they can clatter to the floor of this utility closet he’s jammed them both into. “But - I don’t understand. Why are you helping me?”

Keith looks up, binders held loosely in hand. The pilot’s eyes meet his. The fear is gone, replaced by an exhausted confusion. There’s so much in this pilot’s gaze that Keith can barely breathe - there’s a whole personality, a history, a compassion and a heart Keith’s desperate to know just a little more about. If he’s being honest - he doesn’t understand. What fosters that sort of bravery? This man is a pilot. He’s a rebel. He’s seen planets and whole worlds Keith will never set foot on. This man has lived a kind of life Keith will never know if he stays here, stuck on the inside of this Star Destroyer following someone else’s orders, someone else’s plans for him, someone else’s agenda for the rest of whatever remains of his life. 

Whole galaxies swirl in this man’s eyes, confused and scared and exhausted and flecked through with the tiniest, purest flicker of hope.

Keith cannot look away.

“Because it’s the right thing to do,” he whispers.

The pilot’s eyes search his. He’s taller than Keith, but not by much. Keith breathes in. Compels himself to breathe out. The sliver of light from the hall plays across their faces, gently brushes the dust specks close in the air between them. There is so little space. There’s too much.

Whatever the other man is looking for in Keith, he must find it. Realization sparks into the eternal gaze of his; the sliver of light slants sharply across his cheek. Keith is lost. He’s drowning. He’s alive.

“You need a pilot,” the man breathes.

Not really, no. Keith can fly any of the TIE fighters in the hangar six ways from Taunsday. Crammed in this small utility closet, though, inches away from the stranger’s face -

“Yeah,” Keith says, thickly. “Yeah. I need a pilot.”

**4\. The pilot’s name is Shiro, and he and Keith escape the** **_Finalizer_ ** **only to crash spectacularly on the planet below.**

It’s no fault of Shiro’s. He’s an excellent pilot, and though he takes to the controls of a TIE-fighter like he was born for it, even Keith couldn’t outrun all of the _Finalizer’s_ weapons honed right in on their sad excuse for an escape. Keith makes it through the crash, coughing back to consciousness on a dry desert, thrown far away from the crashsite. He stumbles his way back towards the flames, desperate.

The fire is too big by the time Keith gets there. The crashed TIE-fighter sinks down beneath quicksand before he can do more than scramble at what remains of the cockpit. Shiro doesn’t make it. His jacket does. Keith takes the thick fabric he’d managed to pull free, thumbs rubbing almost reverently over the worn, well-cared for sleeves. Whatever type of material this is, it’s beautiful. It’s smooth under his questing fingers, roomy around his shoulders when he tentatively tries it on. Keith slings the jacket over his head to keep out the beating sun and sets off.

There’s nothing else to be done except to keep on.

**5\. Everything else that happens is a blur, until:**

When Keith sees Shiro for the fourth time, it’s in reunion.

The battle’s over - Keith’s first space battle as part of some ‘Rebel Alliance’ - and the hangar of his new allies is alive and bustling with victorious energy, with safety, with hope. People push past him, calling out to one another as ships land, pilots disembarking and tech-droids rushing forwards and chaotic order restored. It’s crowded, it’s new, and yet within the massive surge of people Keith has eyes for only one glorious sight. 

“Keith,” Shiro cries. He’s running, Keith’s running, they’re running across the open hangar to each other and it’s too far, too close, too perfect. They crash into each other at last. Shiro clings to him and Keith clings back and Keith’s new friend K0SM0 whirs and beeps at their heels, energetic and relieved.

“You’re alive,” Shiro says, again and again. All around them the rebel hangar bustles with motion. Keith sees none of it. The late afternoon sun plays off the buckles of Shiro’s flight suit, the streak of white in his hair, the half-healed scar over the bridge of his nose. “But how did you - ”

 _“You’re_ alive,” Keith babbles right over him. Shiro’s eyes search over his face, his gaze full of worlds and galaxies and so much relieved intensity Keith could drown all over again. He’d fall out of a hundred more TIE-fighters if it meant Shiro would look at him like this again. “I didn’t - how - ”

“It’s a long story,” Shiro stammers. His hands roam over Keith’s shoulders, flit almost up to Keith’s neck as if to cup his face before Shiro remembers himself, pulling away. Keith’s heart thuds in his chest, useless. “The autopilot ejected me, I didn’t get a chance to - is that my jacket?”

Oh. Oh, of course Shiro wasn’t looking at him. Disappointment sinks low in Keith’s gut, dreaded but not a surprise. Of course -

“Here,” Keith starts, shrugging out of the sleeves.

“No!” Shiro’s hands grasp his shoulders again. Startled, Keith stops. 

Shiro smiles for the first time since Keith’s met him. It’s a proud smile. It’s warm. It’s fond. It’s for him. For Keith, Shiro’s rescuer and - maybe - Shiro’s friend.

“Keep it,” Shiro says, and tugs the sleeve back up Keith’s shoulder. The collar rests against Keith’s neck, soft and warm. “It suits you.”

**+1. It isn’t a fate aboard a nameless, faceless place.**

It isn’t adventure on one of the galaxy’s oldest, most famous Rebel Ships. It isn’t the new droid playing at his ankles. It isn’t even the lightsaber swinging at Keith’s hip, given to him by some old woman in some bar on a planet Keith barely remembers now. It’s all of those things and none of them.

It’s a jacket that doesn’t scratch at his neck. It’s a smile, just for him. It’s warmth in the arm that Shiro slings over his shoulders, the way he steers Keith towards the main exit of the hangar, the way the skin around his eyes crinkles as Shiro smiles, he smiles, he smiles.

Oh.

Yes.

Keith knows what he wants.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like what you read please feel free to drop me a comment. I may not post very often, but I read and re-read your comments like a dragon with her little hoard. <3
> 
> You can also follow me on [tumblr](https://butteredonions.tumblr.com/) or [tweeters](https://twitter.com/butteredonions) if you'd like. I'm not the most active these days but would love to hear from you. Come say hi! Thanks for reading!


End file.
